I dare you to hold my hand
by MidnightWillows
Summary: D.I Greg Lestrade lives a mundane life, with a half-exciting job and a marriage without love, and so when he meets Sherlock Holmes he becomes a welcome distraction. But along with him comes the other Holmes-brother, Mycroft, and Greg finds his life taking an unexpected turn. Set a few years before Sherlock meets John. Mystrade. (Warning: Deals with drug use, eventual depression)
1. Chapter 1

**Hello and welcome to this world of mine! I recently read a story that made me fall in love with Mycroft/Greg, so I just had to type this up. John will arrive in the story in future chapters, I promise you. Any suggestions, please let me know. Love to you all! /Willows**

**Chapter 1**

It was a Wednesday like any other Wednesdays. The rain was still pouring down outside the window, just as it had done for the past eight days. London was experiencing one of its more chilly springs, and everywhere, people ran with their heads down and their coats tightly wrapped around them. It had been a severe and unusually long winter, which had caused the towns inhabitants to stay indoors most of the time, making the few brave who defied the cold look like ghostly figures in the otherwise empty streets. Now the winter had finally turned into spring, but the much-awaited sun was still nowhere to be seen.

Greg shut off his alarm, grunted and rolled out of bed. He gazed out the window and cursed for the eight day in a row that he was living in London and therefore had to endure a life in the cold. He got dressed and walked sleepily out into the kitchen. He glanced briefly at the note on the kitchen table.

"_Sorry, I have to work late tonight, don't wait up._

_\- Elaine"_

He didn't even have to read it really, he knew what it said. He also knew that it was a lie, and that his wife was currently sleeping with the gym teacher at the school where she taught third-grade. When you teach third-grade, you don't have to work late _every _night, so it hadn't been a very difficult conclusion to come up with. Of course, he had been suspicious already two years ago when she started going to the dentist about three times a week. And last year she had taken a sudden interest in astronomy, which of course caused her to stay out late several times a week, "watching stars with her study-group". Greg had tried to be upset, but had found it in him that he really didn't care, which probably showed to what extent their marriage had fallen into the cracks.

He could always tell whenever she got herself a new lover by the color of her lipstick. During these years she had used pretty much the entire spectrum of reddish colors, from deep dark red to light pink. She had even tried a nuance of purple, but that only lasted for three weeks. A few months back she'd changed it from a bright-red color, to a darker shade of red, like roses, and so far it seemed like she'd stick with it.

If he was being honest with himself, he hadn't loved her for years, and he was certain that the feeling was mutual. They stuck together more out of habit and laziness than anything else. They didn't have any children to take into account, which probably was for the best seeing to the situation, although Greg would've loved to become a father. They had tried for many years, but in vain. Eventually they had gone to the doctor where Greg found out that he was practically sterile. He had a strong feeling that his wife had never really forgiven him for not being able to have children of their own. It was soon after that, that their marriage had started to fall apart. Their relationship now consisted of curt conversations about the weather, boring Christmas presents once a year and the occasional dutiful shag on birthdays and anniversaries.

And, of course, the eternal notes on the breakfast table from her. As far as discretion goes, she might just as well have shouted "I'm fucking my colleague, just so you know" into Greg's face. That would probably not have made any greater impact than the notes though, seeing as Greg _just didn't care_.

He was generally in a part of his life where he felt indifferent about pretty much everything. Despite the mostly terrible things he dealt with at work every day, they all left him more or less unmoved. He desperately wanted something to happen, anything that would get him out of this state. Seeing as fidelity wasn't really on the map anymore, he had tried chatting up a few women in a bar once or twice, but he was out of practice and it always ended with him going home alone to the empty house, watching a movie and feeling rather miserable.

While he was drinking his morning tea, this ordinary Wednesday, Greg flipped through the paper, and winced when he saw his own face staring back at him. The headline read 'BAND OF BURGLARS STILL ON THE LOOSE' and further down in the article, beside a pixelated picture of himself looking very grim;

"_D.I Lestrade from Scotland Yard is in charge of the investigation concerning the wave of burglaries that has swept over London lately. The D.I stated on the press-conference yesterday that the police so far had reached no break-through in the investigation, and that they had no clues whatsoever. When he received the question what can be done to protect one's home from a break in, he answered 'Well I guess people will have to get better locks.'". _

Which was not at all what he had said.

Okay maybe that was exactly what he'd said. He really should keep better control of his temper when it came to dealing with the press. Nonetheless, the stupid journalist was right, they had nothing to go on whatsoever. There had been about eleven break-ins in London so far, during the past three weeks. There seemed to be no connection between the stricken houses, although the procedure was always the same. The house, belonging to a wealthy family, cleared of everything valuable, but no fingerprints, no DNA, no traces whatsoever. They hadn't even found a single hair, and Greg thought that he might be slowly going crazy just out of pure frustration. He folded the paper with a bit more force than necessary, tearing a few pages in the process, and downed his tea in one mouthful. He then put on his coat and made his way to work, hating the rain more and more with each step.

He was soaking by the time he stepped into his office, which did not improve his already bad mood. He helped himself to a cup of lukewarm coffee in the kitchen and grunted to the people nearby in a sort of good morning greeting. He barricaded himself in his office, hoping not to be disturbed by some dreadful colleague. He had tons of paperwork to attend to, and Greg once again wished _desperately_ for something to happen, anything to get him out of this.

He got his wish fulfilled around lunchtime, when yelling in the corridor outside caused him to look up from the report he was currently writing. He tried to locate the shouts and was just about to go see what was going on when his office door was jerked open. It was Sally, a young and ambitious Sergeant who'd started working at Scotland Yard just a few weeks ago. Greg had so far not determined whether or not he liked her.

"Lestrade, you have to come! He is being a complete arse to everyone, claiming we are incompetent. He shouted obscenities at Maria and made her cry. He's demanding to speak with you." Sally said, sounding exasperated.

"Who?" Greg asked, feeling more than a bit confused.

"I don't know who he is, he just barged in and started insulting all of us."

"Where is he now?" Greg said, already heading out the door and down the corridor, Sally trailing behind.

"I put him in the interrogation room, I didn't know what to do." she said hesitantly.

"It's fine Sally, I'll deal with this. You can go now." He added when she looked as if she were about to follow him into the room. She just nodded and headed round the corner. Greg wondered what kind of person was waiting for him on the other side of the door, who had managed to upset so many people and make such a fuss in just a few minutes. He should probably be suspicious, but he felt nothing but curiosity. Finally something out of the ordinary happened. He took a deep breath and opened the door.

The man waiting for him inside was tall, lean and pale. He was sitting slumped in the chair, his feet up on the table. His black curly hair was a mess, and his clothes seemed like they could use a good wash. He had a fancy black coat draped around him, which did not suit the rest of his outfit, and which made him look strangely majestic. The most striking about him though was his face. The pale skin was flawless and made a sharp contrast to the black hair. The high cheekbones gave him a mysterious aura and could've been too sharp, hadn't it been for his eyes, which bore a striking but warm gaze. Greg was instantly fascinated by this man. He sat down opposite of him, crossed his arms and met the piercing look provided by the strange man in front of him. The man pulled out a packet of cigarettes, and continued to light one and inhale deeply with his eyes closed.

"Those things will kill you" Greg said simply, because he honestly had no idea to start a conversation with this man.

The dark haired one inhaled again and snorted at him. "Oh don't pretend you don't want one as well. You're practically inhaling my smoke, and your pencil is pretty much useless right now." Greg looked down at the pencil he had held between his fingers. It was broken in half. It was hard to stop smoking, and so far he hadn't done a very good job. He fought against his better judgment for about six seconds, then he sighed and took one of the offered cigarettes, sincerely hoping he wouldn't get caught smoking inside. The man smirked, and held out the lighter for him.

"You are Detective Inspector Lestrade" It was not a question. Even his voice was dark and mysterious, and every word sounded like it had been carefully weighed before spoken out loud. "I've read all about you in the papers."

Greg really didn't know whether to be flattered or ashamed by this so he just nodded and said "Yes. And who are you?"

The man cocked an eyebrow at him, smirked again and said, "I am Sherlock Holmes."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

"Should I be impressed?" Greg asked. He had never heard the name before, and it was certainly the kind of name that didn't slip your mind.

"You should be. I know things that you idiots who call yourselves the police would kill to find out." Sherlock Holmes said, blowing out smoke in a perfect circle.

Now it was Greg's turn to snort. "A bit self-righteous are we?" he said, trying to ignore the fact that he just got called idiot alongside his entire profession by a complete stranger.

"No." Sherlock Holmes said seriously, putting out his cigarette on the table, leaving a coal-black mark on the wooden surface. "You have been investigating the London burglaries for weeks now, and you haven't reached any progress whatsoever, although the answer is right in front of your pretty little faces. I solved the case two minutes after I read about the first break-in in the paper, and you lot are supposed to be the Scotland Yard. It's pathetic."

"Hold on." Greg said, putting his hands up in front of him. "Are you telling me you have known all along? You know who the burglars are?" Sherlock stared at him calmly and lit another cigarette, but didn't reply. "Then why the hell haven't you told us?" Greg was frustrated.

"I don't call myself a policeman. It is not my job to solve your petty little cases." Sherlock said nonchalantly.

"Petty little cases?" Greg repeated slowly, feeling his face go red. "Petty little… There has been eleven break-ins. That means eleven families who have been robbed of all of their values, not to mention sense of safety in their own homes. And you tell me you could have prevented what, the ten latest?"

"There, there Inspector, there's no need to raise your voice like that. Would you like my help or not?" Sherlock spoke in a superior sort of way, which only seemed to emphasize the fact that in this room, he now had the power, and they both knew it. Greg had no idea who this man was, nor if he spoke the truth at all. He had already been insulted deeply, and all his common sense screamed at him to stay away from Sherlock Holmes. That was what any other person would do. But Greg wasn't any other person. He had gotten this job for a reason, and it was because he always trusted his gut feeling, which so far had never failed him. And right now it told him that Sherlock Holmes was a man that could be trusted. Greg just hesitated for the sake of it, he had known from the first sight that this man would somehow change his life, and therefore it wasn't a question whether _if_ Greg wanted help, it was more of an inner debate whether or not he should involve Sally and the rest of the group. He decided to deal with that later. He sighed, dragged his fingers through his hair, swallowed the last remaining of his pride and nodded. "Yes, I would very much like your help."

Sherlock looked pleased. He put his elbows on the edge of the table and leaned towards Greg. "Good." he said. "You're going to need a new pencil."

"How the hell do you know all of this?" Greg asked exasperated. He was hungry and exhausted, and the clock on the wall showed that it was well past his general office hours. Sherlock had just spent the last few hours explaining how and why, and most importantly, who was responsible for the break-ins. Greg had sat with his mouth open, soaking up every word Sherlock had spat out in a frankly ridiculous speed, and despite a few not-so-well-concealed insults directed to himself, he couldn't help but be fascinated with this man. Sherlock had explained how the stricken families had one thing in common, which was a secret bank account in Switzerland with obscene amounts of money. Since the bank had access to their customer's personal data, including addresses and PIN-codes to the house alarms, they had seen their chance to earn a bit extra by robbing the customers in their own homes. "And of course a secret bank with secret bank accounts for their secret billionaire-customers know how to do a break-in without leaving traces. It's so simple." Greg had concluded, and Sherlock had looked almost pleased. They had now spent the last hour coming up with a plan to catch the group in the act next time, because of course, Sherlock knew exactly when and where they would strike. This 'coming up with a plan' thing consisted mostly in Greg barking orders left and right, and Sherlock barking at Greg for, in Sherlock's opinion, giving out the wrong orders.

Finally, they had a strategy and a force of policemen ready to act. The next break-in was scheduled for 5.56 the following day at a mansion in the outskirts of London. That is, if one decided to trust Sherlock, which Greg apparently had done for some reason. It was now 23.43 and the rumble of Greg's stomach disturbed the silence in the interrogation room in which he still sat together with Sherlock. He coughed awkwardly. "I really need to get something to eat" he said, as if it hadn't been obvious. He hesitated, then asked "Would you like to grab something?"

"I don't eat while I'm working. Digestion slows me down." Sherlock answered. This somehow did not surprise Greg at all. "Oh" he said simply. A second later Sherlock suddenly rose from his chair.

"Where are you going?" Greg asked, a bit shocked at the sudden movement.

"Home." Sherlock replied. "I think I've done my fair share of the work now. After all, I must leave something for you idiots to take care of. Don't mess it up."

Greg decided to ignore the insult. He had barely spent a day with Sherlock and he was already accustomed to snarky comments about his competence. Greg watched Sherlock put on his coat in a very dramatic manner, and just before he swept out of the room Greg cleared his throat causing Sherlock to stop and look at him. Greg hesitated, not really knowing how to phrase the question, and also because he couldn't really believe he hadn't asked this earlier.

"Mr. Holmes, what is it that you do?"

"I observe, Inspector. You should try it some time." Sherlock Holmes winked, and smirked and then he was out of sight, and Greg found himself alone in the room, wondering if he had dreamt it all.

He hadn't.

At 6.35 he woke up, startled by his phone buzzing furiously on his desk where he'd slept through the night. He yawned and shook his head as if to clear it from sleep and picked up. "Yeah 'ello?" he said, rubbing his neck which was stiff from his not-so-comfortable sleeping position. It was Sally who called him to say that the operation had went well, and that he could expect four burglars to arrive within shortly. Greg managed to provide a few "hmm's" and "aha's" and even a "good job" before hanging up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

At 6.40 he put on the coffee-pot and then poured himself a large cup, his breakfast for the day. At 6.47 he spilled said cup on his office floor, after he had walked in and found Sherlock Holmes sitting at his desk looking through the scattered files. "Shit" Greg exclaimed. "You can't just sneak into my office like that."

"Oh it _really_ wasn't that hard." Sherlock replied distantly, flipping through the papers. Greg sighed heavily and went to retrieve something to mop up his lost breakfast with. He helped himself to a new cup in the kitchen before he went back to his office. Sherlock took no notice of him, as he shuffled files around and scribbled notes on a piece of paper. Greg sat in the chair opposite, drinking his coffee and watching the scene with growing indignation. "Oh, be my guest" he said sarcastically when Sherlock opened up Greg's laptop and started typing and clicking.

"Seriously, you can't do that! That's private property, not to mention tons of confidential..."

"Do you want my help or not?" Sherlock cut him off. Greg opened his mouth as to argue, but closed it again, pursing his lips. He still didn't know who Sherlock was, or why he was agreeing to letting him help, he just knew that without him they would still be in the dark regarding the break-ins.

"Thought so" Sherlock mumbled while typing and clicking some more, and Greg resisted the urge to punch him in the face.

A few minutes later, Sherlock jumped up, gathering the files and his notes and exclaimed, almost happily "Great, they're here. Let's go interrogate some burglars, Inspector." Greg, who hadn't even noticed that they'd arrived shook his head. "No no no...You're not..." But Sherlock was already out the door and heading down the corridor.

"You are not interrogating those criminals, you hear me!" Greg shouted after him. But whether or not Sherlock had heard him Greg didn't know, and when he had caught up he found Sherlock in the interrogation room, presenting himself to one of the apparent suspects. "Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective. I work with D.I Lestrade."

And he should have opposed himself to this statement, he really should. It was what any ordinary person would do. But since Gregory Lestrade wasn't ordinary, he merely accepted this as a new fact, entered the room, and sat down next to Sherlock Holmes.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

The interrogations were over. It really hadn't been much of a struggle, getting them to confess. They had literally been caught _in the act, _so it was never any doubt whether or not they were responsible. However, Greg had also managed to squeeze out the details of their employer, aka. The Super-Secret Billionaire Bank in Switzerland, how much they were paid and under what conditions they worked. Okay, so maybe Sherlock had helped with the squeezing of the details. He was remarkable, that much was undeniable. He was also rude, socially incompetent and a complete arse, but he was remarkable. It was like he knew every secret that anyone possessed, down to the very darkest ones. He could tell what someone had had for breakfast by looking at their tie, and he could reveal the most astonishing details out of a, from Greg's point of view, completely meaningless piece of paper. This ability might or might not have helped persuade the arrested men to spill the beans about their employer and their affairs, as Sherlock had threatened to publicly announce some really filthy secrets that each of the suspects possessed. It may or may not be legal to use said ability in a matter of police-work, but at the moment Greg didn't have the energy to care. He had done everything he could. As far as the bank and their shady business went, it really wasn't his problem, he would send over all the information to the police in Switzerland and be done with it. It was also their problem to deal with the stricken families, and make sure everything was cleared up between them and the bank. He was just going to write up the last details in the report, and then he could actually go home early for once. He could barely believe it. Yesterday, he had been completely clueless about the case, and today it was solved. Greg sat by his desk, scribbling at the report when the door opened and Sherlock stepped in. He sat down in the chair, watching Greg until he finally threw away his pencil and directed his attention to Sherlock.

"So…Consulting Detective, huh?" Greg said. "I've never heard of that job before."

"I invented it, I am the only one in the world."

Greg chuckled. "Of course you are. Listen Mr. Holmes"

"Sherlock"

"What?"

"Call me Sherlock."

"Oh. Alright then. Sherlock." It felt a bit weird already being on first-name basis, but then again, there was nothing _not_ weird about Sherlock. "Um…I just want to thank you. It would probably have taken weeks to solve this without your help." Sherlock snorted. "Fine. It would have taken months without your help, and I just…I'm really grateful." Greg hesitated before continuing. "Ehm… what sum did you have in mind? I'm really not used to hire consulting detectives, so I'm not sure how much would be appropriate."

"I don't want money." Sherlock said.

"I was thinking maybe…wait what?" Greg said, thinking he must have heard wrong.

"I. Don't. Want. Money." Sherlock said again, emphasizing each word.

"Err… okay. So you're just doing it for free then? Helping us solve cases? Helping me?" Greg really couldn't believe it. Sherlock stood up, tearing a piece off of one of Greg's files and scribbled something on it. "I'll make you a deal Inspector. You call me whenever you're out of your depth, which is always" Greg rolled his eyes but took the note from Sherlock. "I will help you solve whatever case you're on. In turn I get free hands at crime scenes."

"I can't do that" Greg said immediately. He could get in so much trouble for even considering this.

"Oh I think you can find a way Inspector. Or else I could probably find a few people that would be interested in that embarrassing story of how you lost your virginity in the backseat of a car. A Ford was it? Oh no right, it was a Saab. My bad." He smirked, and Greg tried his best not to throw his shoe at him.

"How do you even know..? Never mind" He shook his head. "Fine. I'll see what I can do, but I won't promise anything. Now get the hell out of my office." Sherlock looked pleased. "Certainly Inspector." He walked out the door, but before he closed it he poked his head in and said "Of course it's absolutely necessary that I am the first one on _every_ crime scene. I can't possibly risk it being ruined by your useless crowd of officers." He closed the door. This time, Greg actually did toss his shoe after him. It bounced against the door and fell to the floor with a heavy thud. Greg put his head in his hands and contemplated how he had ended up accidentally hiring the world's only consulting detective who, on top of that, had sort of blackmailed him into something that probably could cost him his job. But still, he couldn't help but feeling…he didn't quite know. Happy was not the right word. He just _felt_, which was more than he'd done lately. He turned his attention towards his paperwork again, and felt just a little bit lighter.

When Greg finally decided to head home for the day, he was stopped repeatedly in the hallways, exchanging handshakes, received pats on his back and earned several "good job's". The case with the "Band of Burglars", as the press liked to call them, had been one of the largest in a long time, and a lot of people had been involved. Okay so maybe he didn't deserve _all_ the credit for solving it, but he still had a hard time hiding his smile and he let himself revel in that good feeling of accomplishment. He stepped out of the building and his smile grew even wider. It had stopped raining. However, his praise towards the god of weather was interrupted when a man in what looked like a very expensive black suit approached him and asked

"Excuse me Sir, are you Detective Inspector Lestrade?"

"Yes, that's me. Who's asking?" Greg replied to the strange man.

"There is a car for you Sir." The man gestured towards a big black and very shiny car that was parked by the side of the road. Greg was confused at first, but then he realized that it was probably the District Attorney that had sent the car. It was a bit weird because if he had wanted to arrange a meeting he could have just called, but then again, it wasn't every day that you caught the most searched criminals in London. Maybe the special occasion called for special measures. Greg decided to go with it. Hell, he'd earned a bit of special treatment, and if it turned out to be a big black and very shiny car, who was he to complain?

"He really didn't need to send me a car" he said though, because he felt like it was something he should say.

"No problem at all Sir. Now if you wouldn't mind" the man said, opening the door for Greg. "We are in a bit of a hurry".

Greg got into the car. The man closed the door, walked around the car and got into the driver's seat. They drove south, crossed the River Thames and proceeded by going south-west. Greg had been lost in his own thoughts and hadn't really paid attention to where they were going, but after about 20 minutes, when the characteristics of inner London had started to thin out and were replaced by factories and industrial-looking buildings, he started to wonder where the hell they were going. He cleared his throat. The driver said nothing and turned right. Greg coughed. The driver turned left.

"Excuse me, but where are we going? Mr. Langley surely hasn't switched office and relocated himself here of all places?"

"I'm not taking you to see Mr. Langley." The driver said simply, and Greg felt a bit panicky. Where the hell did he bring him and who was the hell was he supposed to meet? He took a deep breath and convinced himself that it was probably nothing out of the ordinary, and that he was Detective Inspector Lestrade for god's sake. But before he could ask again, the car finally slowed to a stop in front of a large building in what looked like an abandoned marina. The corpses of once fine-looking boats were scattered around the building, and the smell of sea and tar met him when the driver opened the door for him and he stepped out, wind rustling his hair.

"Through the door, if you would be so kind Sir." The driver said. Greg looked around him, feeling incredibly stupid, and his eyes fell on the only door in sight, which was a rusty one belonging to the large building. The driver got back into his seat and closed the door, and Greg saw no other option than to step through the door and meet whatever person was waiting for him on the other side. The door creaked when he opened it and he wondered not for the first time what the hell he was doing. He took a deep breath and stepped inside.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

The man inside waiting for him was tall and slender. His brownish hair lay smooth and perfect on his head, and he was dressed in a perfectly fitting grey suit and black shoes that looked completely new. Everything about this man seemed impeccable. He was leaning on a pinkish umbrella, and he watched Greg curiously as he entered the door and made his way towards the man, his every step echoing in the empty hall. The man looked intimidating, yet Greg wasn't intimidated at all. He stopped a few meters away, which seemed to amuse the man. The silence stretched, and Greg was determined not to be the one to break it. After a while, the man spoke.

"I am very glad that you decided to join me". Greg raised his eyebrows. It hadn't really been a choice. "I'm sorry about this choice of location, but one cannot be careful enough these days, or what do you say, Detective Inspector?" His voice was very soft, but he spoke like someone who was used to receive attention.

"Who are you?" Greg asked.

"We are not here to talk about me. We are here to talk about you". He pointed at Greg with his umbrella. Greg automatically took a step back. "I have nothing to say, I don't know who you are."

"You don't have to know who I am, the most important thing is that I know who you are."

Greg narrowed his eyes. "What the hell do you want?"

"There is no need to be impolite. I only want to ask you a question, and I want to you answer it truthfully." Greg instinctively knew that this was a man one did not lie to. "A question?" he repeated. "What question?"

"I will only ask you once, and I will not repeat myself." The man paused, then spoke, pronouncing every word carefully. "What are your intentions with Sherlock Holmes?"

"My intentions?" Greg huffed, having expected something completely different, and instead felt like he was taking Sherlock out for a date and this man was having a hurt-him-and-I-kill-you-speech."My intentions? What are you, his big brother?"

"Yes." The man said simply, his eyes never leaving Greg. "My name is Mycroft Holmes. Sherlock Holmes is my younger brother."

"Oh". It was all Greg could say because frankly, it had caught him very much by surprise. The man smirked, and suddenly the family resemblance was uncanny. "Oh" he said again, for no reason at all.

"Now I answered your question, I think it is time for you to answer mine." Mycroft Holmes said.

"Did you really bring me all the way here to ask me that? Couldn't you just have, I don't know, called me?"

Mycroft said nothing, which annoyed Greg. How could this man be so neutral?

"Fine. My _intentions_ with Sherlock are none really. Or well, I sort of hired him as a consulting detective. No, he actually hired himself more or less. Anyway, we work together. I think."

"Well that do sounds like Sherlock." Mycroft said, and Greg immediately wondered what it was like to _know_ Sherlock Holmes. He was curious to how these two men could seem so alike yet so different from each other. Where Sherlock was like a whirlwind, his brother seemed stable as a rock. Had they grown up together? What had their childhood been like? Had they played together? No, Greg couldn't even imagine a world where Sherlock and the cold man in front of him were children, even less so a world where they played. Greg got aware of Mycroft staring at him. "Oh, right. Um… I haven't really thought it through to be honest. I haven't even told my boss yet, and he's going to be furious. But he really helped us though, Sherlock I mean. He solved our latest case."

"The London burglaries, yes. I figured he wouldn't be able to stay away from them." Mycroft said, looking distant. "My brother is very fond of crimes, of any kind. He has abilities which are quite remarkable."

"Yeah, I've seen them. He knows everything." Greg said, thinking of Sherlock more or less blackmailing him, knowing a story he hadn't even told his wife.

"That's not quite true." Mycroft replied. "_I_ know everything. Sherlock knows what he needs to know. He see things, he observes in a way other people cannot. One must be careful when dealing with Sherlock Holmes. Are you ready to take him on, Inspector?"

"I… well, yeah. I mean, sure. Okay so he can be a bit rude sometimes" Mycroft smiled crookedly. "But I think he can really help me. And it seems like he wants to help me, too. It's a win-win, Mr. Holmes."

"Mycroft."

"What?"

"Please, call me Mycroft. If you are a good enough man to deal with my brother, we may at least be on first-name terms with each other, don't you think?"

"Ehm, sure, I guess." Greg said, wondering what made the Holmes-brothers so keen on first-names. "My name is -"

"Greg, yes I know" Mycroft interrupted him. "I'm sorry for all of this" he gestured vaguely around them "but it's very nice to meet you, Greg" He extended his hand. Greg took it. And when they shook hands Greg thought that, yes, it was indeed nice to meet him.

The handshake was followed by silence. Mycroft was watching him intently, and Greg had a feeling that he, too, had the ability to see into the very darkest corners of Greg's mind. Eventually, Mycroft said "I'll have my driver take you back to London. I figure we will see more of each other ahead." And with a curt nod, he walked past Greg and out the door. Greg followed him, wanting to say something more, but when he stepped out the building there was no sign of him. There was only the driver who stood by the car, already waiting with the door open. Greg looked around him, shook his head and climbed into the car.

"Can you pass me the salt?"

Greg took the salt and pushed it over to the other side of the table. He was lost in thoughts. His day had been unusual to say the least, and he couldn't get Mycroft Holmes out of his head. Who was he, really? And why was he being so dramatic? Although they had only spent minutes in each other's company, Greg was intrigued by Mycroft, and he definitely wanted to find out more about the man who had grown up with Sherlock.

He chewed his steak slowly. It tasted nothing. He took a sip of his beer. It tasted nothing. He looked across the table at his wife. He felt nothing.

She was beautiful, Elaine. Her dark-brown hair lay in waves down her back, her mouth naturally rosy red (when she wasn't wearing lipstick), and her green eyes had always been a favorite of his. But lately he'd noticed that her hair had grown grey by the temples, her eyes had lost some of its former glory and her mouth had long since lost its perfection from kissing too many men that were not her husband. When he looked at her now, he felt no more than when he looked at a pair of shoes. It sounded harsh, but it was the truth. He cared for her of course, they had spent a major part of their lives together, but he didn't love her, and he would never love her again. That much he was certain about.

They chewed their steak and drank their beer and Elaine said "It's nice that it has finally stopped raining" and Greg said "Yes. There might be sun tomorrow", and they cleared the table and watched some TV and then they went to bed without saying another word to each other. That was his life, and Greg hated it. And he hated himself for not doing anything about it. And he tossed and turned thinking about it until his watch showed 02.24 and he finally fell asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Days and weeks came and went and Greg almost forgot about Sherlock until one day when he entered his office in the morning and found him sitting there, fast asleep. He managed to not drop his coffee-cup this time, but he cursed so loudly that Sherlock woke up.

"Ah Lestrade" he said, as though he hadn't been asleep at all. "Morning".

Greg grunted in response, sat down and tried to convince his heart not to have an attack. "You have _got_ to stop sneaking into my office like that. I could've had a heart attack."

"That's hardly likely to happen, Inspector. You're relatively healthy, your heart is fine and apart from a few cigarettes now and then, you are well enough to live a few more years at least. Although you should cut down on the sweets."

Greg shot Sherlock a murdering look, but discretely shoved his untouched donut in the trash. Sherlock smirked.

"Why are you here?" Greg asked, changing the subject.

"You need my help." Sherlock answered. Greg didn't have any major cases at the moment, at least not any which required him to leave his office. It had been calm on the whole crime-committing- front lately, so he had mostly been catching up on his paperwork.

"I don't need your help, I don't even have a case at the moment." He said.

"Ah but you're wrong. You see, I have a case, which I've solved so now I only need your little group of imbecile officers to take care of it all." Sherlock said.

"O…kay. So really, you need my help?" Greg teased.

"Hardly." Sherlock replied coldly. "I do, however, need a few minions to do the dirty work, and seeing as we have a deal Lestrade, you'll fix it for me." Not a question, not a 'please', just a command. Greg sighed loudly, but he had to admit he'd missed this insane person. "Fine" he said, "give me a time, location and some goddamn criminals to catch".

Sherlock smiled his crooked smile. "Game on, Inspector."

Sure enough, Sherlock had once again been absolutely right, and Greg found himself locking up yet another criminal in custody that night. This time, it was a man who sold sleeping pills as fake flu-medicine online, causing his customers to sleep for days, some of them losing jobs because of it. Greg was rather surprised that Sherlock had turned his attention on something so mundane, but he was glad nonetheless. He'd left Sherlock in his office when he went to talk to one of his officers, but when he returned, Sherlock was gone. Greg sighed. He couldn't wrap his head around the mystery that was Sherlock Holmes, but as long as he helped them out like this, Greg saw no reason to complain. He looked at his watch. 17.39. He figured he might as well go home, so he gathered up his things and headed out.

The black shiny car was waiting for him outside, and this time he jumped in without asking any questions. He wondered what Sherlock's brother might need from him now, but he couldn't help but feel a strange sort of anticipation. He gathered it was probably because getting picked up in a black car and brought to some strange location to talk with Mycroft Holmes was a rather strange element in his normally dull life. This time the driver headed north, and they hadn't driven for more than ten minutes when the car stopped in front of a fancy looking office building. The driver opened the door for him and he got out.

"Eight floor, Mr. Lestrade. He's waiting for you."

Greg just nodded and headed into the building, pushing the button to the lift. The glass doors parted for him and he pushed the gleaming number 8. Everything about this building seemed brand new, modern and very exclusive. A soft woman's voice announced that he'd reached the eighth floor, and Greg stepped out into a large room. Everything seemed to be made of glass, from the secretary's desk to the walls and the tables, and Greg suddenly felt nervous about moving at all. The secretary looked up from her screen.

"Detective Inspector Lestrade I presume. Through the doors and straight to the left. He's waiting for you." Greg coughed and mumbled 'thanks' and then pushed a big glass door open and headed left. He walked past a few offices where people were either deeply engaged in phone calls or staring hard into a computer screen. He reached the office door that held a gold sign engraved with 'M. Holmes' and as he raised his hand to knock, the door opened, revealing Mycroft. Greg had almost forgot what he looked like but now he was once again struck by the flawlessness of the man, the perfect suit, the perfect hair, the perfectly polite smile.

"How nice of you to join me Detective Inspector. Please, have a seat." He gestured towards a chair opposite of his own. Greg sat down and took in the room. It seemed to be the only room exempt from the abundance of glass. Instead it held a large oak desk, two leather chairs, a table with liquid-filled crystal bottles and a dark cabinet against which the pink umbrella stood leaning. Mycroft sat down on his side of the desk after having offered a drink, which Greg politely declined. After a short silence and some awkward eye-contact, Mycroft said

"I need to talk to you"

"I figured". Greg said.

"Since you are obviously still involved with my brother, there are a few things you need to know."

Greg once again felt as though he was dating Sherlock, and that Mycroft was having a you-hurt-him-and-I-kill-you-speech. He was glad, however, that it wasn't the case since he had somehow no doubt that Mycroft actually _would_ kill him if he hurt Sherlock. He didn't say anything though, and Mycroft continued.

"I'll say this in the best way I can. My brother has an unfortunate preference for certain…enhancing substances."

"Sherlock does drugs?" Greg asked crassly. He should probably be more surprised than he was, but he'd had his suspicions. No one could be that clever on their own.

"It has nothing to do with his extraordinary abilities," Mycroft said as though he'd read Greg's thoughts "but yes. I am aware of the severity of this situation, and I do everything I can to help him, believe me. What I need from you is a great favor. If you have Sherlock's best interests in mind, I would like you to, if you would notice anything with Sherlock, not report it to your superiors but to me instead. Does that seem like something you might consider? I know that it is a lot to ask, but you would of course get any kind of incentive that you want." Mycroft Holmes was a man who didn't really beat about the bush, and Greg liked the straightforwardness. Mycroft fell silent, while Greg processed this information. He could get into a lot of trouble covering up a drug use, he really could. But when he looked at Mycroft he saw nothing unethical, but a man constantly worrying about his brother, a man that would do anything to protect him. And it didn't feel wrong at all when he answered "Of course."

Mycroft looked surprised. He'd clearly hadn't expected Greg to agree right away.

"How much would you require for this service?" He asked politely.

Greg held up his hands. "I don't need money Mr. Holmes. Mycroft I mean." Mycroft looked pleased at the use of his first name. Greg continued "I would probably lose my job and my reputation and everything if this would come out, but I still want to do it. I haven't met Sherlock many times, but I like him. If I can do anything to help him out, I'll do it. Win-win." Mycroft nodded and Greg thought he even saw hints of a smile.

"Thank you. It means a lot to me, Greg."

"No problem. Besides, I know what it's like to worry about someone this much."

"So you are a big brother too then?" Mycroft asked.

Greg cleared his throat, and looked down. "I was."

"I'm so sorry." Mycroft said, his voice soft. "May I ask what happened?"

Greg considered it. He hadn't talked about it in years, and the truth suddenly tried to claw its way up his throat, wanting to claim its freedom. But no.

"Not today." he replied and Mycroft just nodded in compassion, not in pity as most people do. The room was once again filled with silence and Greg felt as though Mycroft too could see into his very core, into the darkest corners of his self, and he found himself liking the way those grey eyes roamed over him. He cleared his throat again. It had become rather a bad habit whenever he was pressed or nervous.

"I should get going." He said as he rose from the chair. "Was there anything else you wanted?" he asked.

"Your phone number." Mycroft replied, and Greg felt his face go red. "So we can get in touch regarding Sherlock." Mycroft added.

"Right. Yeah, of course." Greg stuttered out, and quickly scribbled his phone number on a note-pad provided by Mycroft.

"Thank you. And I promise I won't mention you breaking any rules for me." Mycroft smiled.

Greg smiled back. "I'll just tell them you blackmailed me into it."

"You could always try." Mycroft said seriously, and Greg honestly didn't know whether it was a threat or not. He raised his hand in goodbye and stepped out of the office and made his way back to the lift.

What it was with the Holmes brothers that made him so keen on bending the rules Greg didn't know, but he was starting to feel really curious to find out.


	6. Chapter 6

**First of all, thank you all for reading! I've gotten a lot of amazing responses and I'm so happy. This chapter is written from Mycroft's p.o.v, so we'll see how that works out. Please tell me what you think! Love /Willows**

**Chapter 6**

Mycroft Holmes considered himself a man of many things. Caution was one of them. He always made sure to do regular and detailed check-ups on his staff, and there were nothing that missed his trained eyes. People did well in not lying to him, because _he would know_ in seconds. It wasn't just his staff that were victims of Mycroft's extreme measures of precaution. Everyone in his, and most importantly Sherlock's, life had a personal file in his archive. It was extremely important that he knew about everyone who came in contact with Sherlock, and even those who just moved in the periphery of his narrow circle of social contacts had been thoroughly researched, such as the owner of the tobacco store where Sherlock bought his cigarettes or the mailman who delivered his post. If anyone had anything to hide or an ulterior motive regarding Sherlock, Mycroft made sure to take care of it. Sherlock did know about the safety measures, but Mycroft rather hoped he didn't know exactly to what extent they went. Sherlock didn't like when Mycroft "interfered with his life", as Sherlock had told him repeatedly. Mycroft didn't care, it was in his nature to worry, and despite Sherlock being an ignorant and rude moron, he was his brother and he would do anything, _anything_, to keep him safe.

It was why he now found himself flipping through the personal file of one Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade. It was a rather thick folder that had been delivered to him that very morning, and he found himself eagerly soaking up the most personal details about the man in question. He didn't quite know why he had found Lestrade so very interesting, but even from the first moment he heard about him he was intrigued. This was a competent and highly respected police at Scotland Yard who hadn't just let Sherlock help with cases, but had also treated him with kindness. He even seemed to care about Sherlock. That alone had been enough for Mycroft to direct his attention towards him, but now that they had met twice in person, the second time only last week, he was even more determined to know what made Lestrade such a remarkable person. He scanned through the pages, read some paragraphs and skipped some, and all the while he had a feeling that it was something in particular that he searched for though he couldn't tell what it was. He flipped some more pages and read some more paragraphs, some which made him smile and some which surprised him. But it wasn't until he turned to page 43 that he found what he had subconsciously been looking for.

_Acquaintances and relationships:_

_Current status: Married. Wife – Elaine Lestrade (former Johnson)._

_Longer relationships: Marley Winston (6 months)_

_Joanna West (13 months)_

_Hannah Krueger (8 months)_

_Jonathan Mills (10 months)_

Mycroft's breath hitched when he read the name _Jonathan Mills_ and a little bit annoyed at himself he understood that it was that he'd been looking for. He kept scanning the page, and following the longer relationships was a small list of one-night stands and sure enough, apart from three women were there seven men. Okay so he had obviously had relationships both with men and women, that was a fact. It was also a fact that he was married, and seeing as there were nothing in the file about the state of the marriage, Mycroft had to assume that it was a happy one. He shouldn't care about that at all. Why would he? But something in his stomach suddenly felt very heavy.

He closed the folder and put it aside. As he was just about to pack up his things and leave for the night, his secretary knocked once and opened the door. She looked at him seriously and Mycroft felt his heart sink. He knew that look.

"Is it…?"

She nodded. Mycroft swallowed and followed her out the door. It would be a long night.

He got into the waiting car and pulled out his phone. He typed the message but then he sat with his thumb hovering over the 'send' button. Was it really necessary to involve him? He looked out the window and the houses and cars that flew by; he thought about all the times he'd done this, and he surrendered. He pressed the button and his phone sent away the short text consisting of two words.

_Danger night. MH_

Greg sent his answer within a minute.

_I'm on my way. Where is he? GL_

Mycroft typed back the location he'd received and it suddenly felt just a little bit easier to deal with whatever was waiting for him. For once, he would not be alone.

He met Greg outside a rough-looking building. They shook hands, glove on glove. He looked tired, Mycroft noted. It wasn't that late yet, and it didn't seem like sleep deprivation. In that case he would have dark circles under his eyes. No, this was something else… perhaps a fight with the wife? It would explain the stiff neck and slightly tightened fists, as if he had left some sort of argument unfinished. Yes, it seemed most likely according to Mycroft. The thought of Greg fighting with his wife made Mycroft strangely happy, and it was just a very small part of him that felt ashamed about it.

He sought Greg's eye, they nodded towards each other and opened the rusty door to the building. Most of the flats seemed empty, but from some of them they heard children screaming and laughing or the unmistakable sound of video games on high volume. The sound of screams and shooting guns followed them up to the fifth floor. The door in front of them seemed as if though it would fall off if someone blew at it, and Greg nudged it open with his foot. Mycroft followed him inside the flat. He dreaded what he would soon witness. He wanted to run out the door, back onto the street and the fresh air, but he forced himself to keep going. It smelled strongly of sweat, cigarette smoke and sour milk and Mycroft had to breathe through his mouth. The flat was full of people lying on sofas or sitting on the floor staring into the wall. Some watched them as they passed, but they were mostly ignored. A small girl, no older than eighteen, sat on an armchair rocking back and forth, humming monotonous. An older man sat by the kitchen window lighting matches, and blowing them out again. Mycroft immediately hated everything about this place, from the smell to the people. He hated walking around in his fancy suit and shiny shoes among people who had nothing, and he hated that he didn't even feel guilty about it.

He stopped in front of a closed bedroom door. He knew that Sherlock would be in there, he just knew. And he couldn't bring himself to open it. He didn't want to see. He still had images of the last time etched inside his mind. Greg stopped right behind him, so close that Mycroft could feel his breath on his neck. He felt a hand upon his shoulder.

"It's okay, I'll do it" Greg said, moving in front of Mycroft. He nodded and took a step to the side, grateful for not being the first one to see it. Greg opened the door and Mycroft heard him say "Shit" and then there was movement inside and something that sounded like a glass breaking and then he couldn't stand it anymore. He stepped into the room and he felt like he'd been punched in the stomach. Sherlock lay on a bed, seemingly unconcious. His clothes was in rags and smelled like vomit. There were empty cannulas scattered over the floor and a heap on the floor that Mycroft had first believed to be a pile of clothes suddenly moved and a young man looked up at them from his nest of dirty laundry. He scanned them and seemed to decide they were no threat and fell asleep once again. Mycroft stood frozen in the room and heard only from a distance Greg's voice as he called the ambulance. He was still in this state in the ambulance and when they had arrived to the hospital. He nodded as the doctors talked to him and he signed the papers that were put in his hand, but he didn't register anything. He hadn't even noticed that he wasn't alone until a cup of coffee was put in his hand and Greg's soft voice said "Drink it. Trust me, you need it.".

Mycroft stared at Greg as he took the cup. "Have you been here the whole time?" he asked, his voice thick with surpressed emotions.

"Yeah. You didn't think I'd leave you alone with this, did you? It's a lot to deal with, and judging by the looks of you, you're not really in the state of doing it by yourself."

Mycroft half managed a smile, but inside he felt completely stunned of the kindness and thoughfulness that Greg showed him. He hadn't really done anything to deserve it, but he was grateful beyond words.

They sat in silence for a while sipping their coffee. Eventually the doctor came out and told them that Sherlock would be fine, but that it had been very close this time. Mycroft felt as a bucket of ice had been dumped over his head at this. Had he really been that close to losing Sherlock? How could he have let this happen? He shook his head and took a deep breath, he really needed to get a grip on himself. If he was going to fix this, he couldn't be in pieces. He needed to be strong for Sherlock.

Greg stood up beside him. "I guess you want to see him now. I'm going to leave you two alone, you might have some things to talk about when he wakes up. Will you call me tomorrow to let me know how he is?" he said, his voice carrying concern.

"Of course" Mycroft nodded. Greg smiled but just as he was to walk off Mycroft surprised himself and seized his hand. "Greg I… I just… Thank you. For everything." Greg nodded, but his eyes were fixed upon their locked hands. "It was nothing" he said, but Mycroft felt a small pressure on his hand before it was realeased. It felt oddly empty without the warmth of Greg's hand in it, and as Mycroft watched him walk away, he felt empty too.


	7. Chapter 7

**First of all, sorry for the long hiatus, I've had limited access to internet during the summer. Second of all, thank you so much for all the nice comments and PM:s, it means a lot to me to know that people are reading this even though I suck at updating. **

**At last, parts of the dialogue in this chapter are direct quotes (or slightly altered ones) from the original story "The Sign of Four". If you haven't read the original work of ACD I highly recommend all of you to do so, the stories are so thrilling and humorous. I also want to apologize in case of any mistakes regarding the effects of cocaine withdrawal. **

**Now I'm going to shut up. Enjoy!**

**Chapter 7**

"Which was it today?" Mycroft asked. "Morphine or cocaine?"

"It was cocaine" the doctor answered. "A seven percent solution".

Mycroft shook his head. The doctor seemed to hesitate before continuing. "It was close this time Mycroft, really close. Had he been perfectly healthy had it not been as critical, but he's not sleeping enough, and I can tell by his tests that he practically starves himself in periods. It does not go well together with a drug use." Mycroft nodded, his stomach heavy. Doctor Jones was an old friend and had been their family doctor for as long as Mycroft could remember. He was retired, but he always came in whenever there was something with Sherlock, and Mycoft was grateful. He didn't let just anyone touch Sherlock, it had to be the best.

"Sorry, what?" Mycroft had been lost in thoughts, but was vaguely aware that the doctor had said his name.

"I said, you know I'll do anything for you, and for Sherlock. But he needs help, professional help Mycroft. And as much as we want to help neither you nor I am capable of handling this. Do you want me to talk to my contacts about rehab?"

"No thank you Doctor Jones, I'll find a way to manage." Mycroft answered. The doctor put a hand on his shoulder, looked towards Sherlock in the hospital bed and sighed. "You do what you find best" he said, and left Mycroft alone with Sherlock who was still sleeping. He looked so small and vulnerable lying in the hospital bed. He was still so young, he shouldn't be throwing his life away on drugs. He moved his chair closer to the bed and did something he hadn't done in years. He leaned over and kissed Sherlock's forehead, and for the first time in a very long time he felt like a child again. He thought of all the times he had put Sherlock to bed when they were children, and then he thought about all the times Sherlock had put himself in these awful hospital-beds, and suddenly he felt immensly tired. He leaned his head in his hand and drifted off.

He woke a few hours later of something moving in his right pocket. The movement then wandred over to the left side. "Stop pick-pocketing me, Sherlock" he said, still with his eyes closed. The movement stopped instantly. Mycroft opened his eyes slowly. The room was bright with sunlight and it was a sharp contrast to the ghostly figure in the bed in front of him. Sherlock had dark circles under his eyes, and his pale skin strecthed over his cheek-bones due to lack of enough nutrition. His lips were swollen and dry, his hair was a mess and his hands kept twiching at his sides. He was staring out the window, refusing to meet Mycroft's eye.

"How are you feeling?" Mycroft asked?

Sherlock snorted. "I'm tired but I can't sleep, I'm dehydrated, my head hurts, my sight is blurry, I'm tense and my hands won't stop twitching. How the fuck do you think I feel, Mycroft?" he spat out the name like it was venom.

"I know that you hate me right now" Mycroft started, and Sherlock interrupted him with "I always hate you". Mycroft had to fight himself not to scream.

"What do you think I should have done then? Leave you there in that place? Left you to die of an over dose alone with people who don't give a rats ass about you? Are you really that stupid Sherlock?" Mycroft felt anger rise inside him but he forced himself to keep his voice calm.

"I'm not stupid". Sherlock all but mumbled.

"Are you sure? Because you sure as hell act like you are. You promised you wouldn't go back to this." Mycroft's voice almost broke at the end of the sentence and he prayed that Sherlock didn't notice. The last thing he needed right now was to be sneered at for being weak. He knew that he was, he knew that he had to be stronger right now. He took a deep breath.

"Why?"

"Oh can you be any more unspecific Mycroft?" Sherlock obviously tried for arrogance, but it didn't go well with how he looked and how thin his voice was.

"Why did you start with the drugs again? Why did you put yourself in such danger? Why do you keep on wasting your life like this? Why. Did. You. Do. It? How specific do you need me to be?" Mycroft couldn't keep calm anymore, and anger slipped out with every syllable he uttered.

Sherlock suddenly seemed very tired. He sighed and sank back against his pillows, still not looking at his brother. He surrendered, Mycroft thought.

"It's too much" Sherlock said weakly. "I'm so tired of seeing _everything_. I'm tired of all the lies and secrets people think they can hide, I'm tired of people being idiots, I'm tired of being bored. I'm bored all the time, Mycroft. It's such a boring world. My brain works all the time, and sometimes I need it to stop. But I can't get it to stop because then _I_ will stop. I _am_ my work and my brain. What would you do if you couldn't use your brain Mycroft?"

Mycroft considered it. He'd go crazy. Every feeling Sherlock described had passed through Mycroft as well, at some point. He was living in a world of goldfish, and of course Sherlock felt the same way. They weren't brothers for nothing, they shared more than just blood. They were alike, yet so different, for where Sherlock turned to drugs, Mycroft turned to work. And where Sherlock turned to work, Mycroft just worked some more. There was a reason he was always available, always alert. Because if he didn't, he'd go insane with the monotony of it all. He understood Sherlock, he really did, but he didn't understand the road his brother had chosen and would probably never do. He was aware of Sherlock staring at him, deducing his train of thoughs.

"Hence the cocaine" Sherlock said, gesturing vaguely towards his arms where several tubes were currently attached. "I can't live without brainwork. What else is there to live for? Just look out the window. Isn't it such a dull, depressing, unproductive world? What is the use of having powers, when there's no field to use them in? Crime is commonplace, existence is commonplace, and no other qualities seems to have any function upon earth."

Mycroft rolled his eyes at the melodrama and said "You're wasting your life", not really knowing how to answer.

"I think that's up to me." Sherlock replied, staring out the window again.

"It's not. People care you know. I care. Mummy and Daddy cares. And it seems like you have made a new acquaintance who indeed cares a great deal."

"You are talking about Lestrade I presume. He doesn't care, I blackmailed him into hiring me." Sherlock said, not sounding remorseful at all, just stating facts.

"You are being stupid again, brother. He was the one who found you, and he refused to leave the hospital until he knew you were okay." _He didn't leave me until he knew I was okay either_. "Don't waste the one good thing that has happened to you in years. Keep Lestrade in your life, for all of us. Win-win." Mycroft said, having unconsciously picked up the expression from the man in question.

Sherlock didn't reply, and Mycroft knew that their conversation was over. He stood up and put on his coat, watching the fragile being that was his brother. He felt powerless, and that was a feeling he hated above everything. Mycroft Holmes wasn't powerless, quite the opposite. He was a man people listened to, and right now it was Sherlock's turn to listen.

"I'm going to make arrangements for you to be sent to a rehab clinic in Switzerland as soon as possible. You can hate me all you like, but you're going. No exceptions."

He turned and stepped out of the room before Sherlock could protest. He exchanged a few words with Doctor Jones before he left the building. The black car was waiting for him outside in the rain, and Mycroft stepped inside, grateful for the heated car. He had a lot of work to do, calls to make and people to talk to. But before he'd do anything else, he'd go home and sleep. It had been a long night, and, thinking back over the years, Mycroft felt it had been a long life too. He felt as though the weight of the world was lying on his shoulders, and in a way it was. As much as he didn't want to admit it, Sherlock had more or less become the purpose of Mycroft's existence, to take care of and protect him was, and had always been his top priority, no matter what Sherlock thought. What would his life be without his brother? That was something that Mycroft strongly intended to never ever find out.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Greg never drank during the day. Throughout his whole life he'd only gotten himself a drink during broad daylight about two or three times. One of the times was when he found out he was no longer anyone's big brother. Another time was when he first found out about Elaine cheating on him, a long time ago when he still loved her. Neither of those times really counted, because honestly, who wouldn't have gotten themselves a drink in those situations? No, Greg never drank during the day, and still he found himself sitting in a bar at noon during his lunch-break a Thursday, sipping on his third whiskey.

He could think of nothing but Sherlock, the first sight of him in that ragged bed so… _broken_. Greg didn't think that he would ever forget or be able to erase that image. His thoughts were a mess and went around like a loop in his head. He was so very tired, he hadn't been able to sleep. Sherlock, pale and unconscious, men and women broken by life staring at him, the young girl that kept humming without a melody, the smell of despair, all of it circled in his head, pictures reminding him every time he closed his eyes. _And then there was Mycroft._ He'd received a very short call earlier in the morning updating him about Sherlock's state, not from Mycroft but from his assistant. Greg had eagerly awaited the call, had wanted to know how Sherlock was doing, but he was more than disappointed when there had been a woman's voice on the other end of the line instead of Mycroft's. Greg had rather preferred to know how he was doing as well, but when asked, the assistant had curtly told him that Mr. Holmes was fine, and then she'd hung up on him, leaving Greg with the phone to his ear for half a minute, feeling rather stupid.

He knew that he was being idiotic. He would not, _could not_ get interested in Mycroft Holmes. Of all people, he could not go for the stone-faced cold man who worked with god-knows-what. He could not go for Sherlock's brother. And still. Greg looked down at the spot where Mycroft had grabbed his hand just a couple of hours before. He imagined he could still feel the warmth linger there, just where fingers had brushed against skin. He closed his eyes and he knew that he was already lost, had been from the first meeting. _Shit._ He downed the rest of his whiskey and headed back to work, feeling more miserable than before.

He sat at his desk trying to sort out a few reports when Sally knocked on his door and entered. He sat up straight, blinking a few times to clear his head.

"I have the report from last week that you asked about" Sally said, almost hesitantly.

"Oh great, thanks. Just leave it here, I'll read it as soon as I'm finished with these" He gestured vaguely with his arm towards the stacks of reports that had been piling up lately.

She put the file on top of one of the piles but she remained beside his desk, looking as though she had an inner debate with herself. Eventually she said "With all due respect sir, you look like shit":

Greg raised his eyebrows. He hadn't been expecting that. "Wow, thanks Sally." She immediately tried to apologize but Greg raised his hand, stopping her. "No it's fine, I know I do. Some stuff has been happening, but it is okay, I'll manage,"

She nodded but looked at him, narrowing her eyes. Then she put her hand against his forehead. "Wha- what are you...?" Greg started saying, but Sally hushed him and instead said very loudly "Yeah I do think you have a fever sir! Yes you should probably go home, we don't want you to get the entire force sick!" Greg snorted but quickly turned it into a series of fake coughs as people peeked in with compassionate expressions through the deliberately open office door.

"Oh are you sick Greg?" Mrs. Lee from the staff department poked her head in. "Yeah you do look a little pale, you should go home and rest." Greg coughed in response and she quickly disappeared from the door.

"That was clever. Thank you Sally."

"Thank you Sir," She said, smiling smugly as she headed towards the door. "Oh right". She turned in the doorway, digging for something in her pocket. She tossed it and Greg caught the piece of peppermint gum. "Trust me sir, you need it. If you want to be convincing you can't go around smelling like a liquor-store." Greg smiled and put the gum in his mouth. He would probably get along really well with Sally Donovan.

Once relieved from work for the day, Greg found himself standing on the street, not really knowing where to go. He obviously couldn't spend the day in town, rumors spread like fire in the police force so people would know he'd been lying if he was seen shopping or something. He had no desire to go home. Elaine had decided that they should get their living room redecorated, so the house was filled with painters, and he did not fancy small-talking about color choices or different types of brushes or whatever painters talked about. He could go see Sherlock in the hospital, but he doubted he'd be allowed inside, since he wasn't family. He pulled out his phone, dialed the number, and then stood staring at it, debating with himself whether or not he should press "call". It was a very short debate, he knew he'd already made up his mind.

Mycroft picked up on the third ring. He sounded tired, but Greg thought he noticed a cheerfulness in his voice when he heard who it was, and he had to take a deep breath.

"Hi, Mycroft. Umm… I guess I just wanted to make sure you were okay?"

"Me? Yes, I am fine, Thank you for asking, Greg." Mycroft replied, a bit stiffly but the 'thank you' sounded genuine. Like he hadn't expected anyone to wonder how he was doing.

"I heard Sherlock would be fine. That's a relief." Greg said.

"Yes, he is probably shouting at doctors and nurses right as we speak, so he is soon back to his old self." Mycroft said. Greg chuckled, and then they both fell silent. Greg opened his mouth and closed it several times, he didn't dare asking. He didn't have to, Mycroft beat him to it.

"Would you like to come over for a cup of coffee? Or are you busy?"

Greg's heart started beating. "No no, I'm not busy. Coffee would be nice. At your office?"

Mycroft cleared his throat on the other end. "No… I was thinking at my house, if you don't mind? I'm working from home today so I was rather hoping to avoid going in to the office."

"No that's fine!" Greg said, silently cursing himself for sounding so eager. "Just give me an address and I'll be on my way" he added, trying to sound more casual.

He received Mycroft's address and two minutes later he was sitting in a cab, wiping his sweaty palms on the seat. Shit, he really needed to get a grip on himself. What did he expect, it was just a cup of coffee, nothing else. The cab stopped in front of a beautiful white brick house, surrounded by an iron fence and flowerbeds filled with red geraniums. It wasn't quite what Greg had expected, but he loved it. It reminded him of his grandmother's summerhouse.

He paid the driver and pushed the gate open. The front door opened before he'd even reached the stairs. "Welcome" Mycroft said, smiling. "Thanks. It's such a beautiful house." Greg said.

"Thank you. Come on in" he gestured inside "It's not a lot of people who knows where I live, just a few of my closest workers and my family." Mycroft said it casually, but Greg felt his heart swell. He was shown inside the living room, the all-white walls and furniture giving an exclusive feeling, mixed with the warm and homely fireplace with its crackling flames. "I'll get the coffee, please take a seat." Mycroft said, and Greg sat down on the sofa. The room held a lot of paintings, some looked like they were worth more than the house itself, but there seemed to be no pictures of family or friends. Mycroft came back with a tray, two steaming cups of coffee and a plate of biscuits. "Thank you" Greg said, picking up his cup. A few minutes passed in silence while they sipped their coffee, but Greg was determined to break it.

"I'm glad that you asked me over, Mycroft." he said boldly. "How are you coping? With the whole Sherlock thing I mean. I take it it's not the first time..?"

Mycroft closed his eyes and shook his head. "No, no it's not. He was only sixteen the first time they called from the hospital. He'd taken LSD and jumped from a rooftop, thinking he could fly. He broke three ribs and sprained his ankle."

"Oh, I'm so sorry Mycroft. You must have been going through hell."

"I manage, I always find a way to manage."

"Sometimes you need to do more than just manage, you need to live your own life."

Mycroft smiled crookedly "I don't have time to live my own life. Between work and dealing with Sherlock, there isn't much time left for me."

"I'll help you" Greg said immediately. "I'll deal with the Sherlock-stuff for a while. I've got plenty of contacts on my own."

Mycroft looked surprised, but smiled. "That is really nice of you Greg. But Sherlock is going to rehab in Switzerland for a few months, he's leaving next week. So hopefully, this time it helps." He fell silent for a minute, then he said "Do you know something? You're the first one to ever ask me about this. About my side of it all. It's….nice. Thank you." He reached out, and took Greg's hand, sending electric waves all through Greg's arm and through his entire body. Mycroft stroked his fingers over his hand, and Greg didn't dare to breathe. The fingers stopped as they found Greg's wedding ring.

"You're married." Not a question. Just a simple fact.

Greg coughed. "No. I mean yes, I am. But not really." Mycroft raised his eyebrows. "It's not really a story suitable for coffee, it's more of a drunk-on-cheap-whiskey-kind of story. But in short, we live together but we're not. Together I mean."

"It sounds complicated." Mycroft said. But he still held Greg's hand. "Is it?"

"Only if you want it to be." Greg all but whispered, because suddenly Mycroft was sitting much closer, close enough that he could see the beautiful grey-blue color of his eyes.

"I don't like complicated" Mycroft whispered back, now so close that Greg could feel his breath across his face.

"Me neither" Greg said, and closed the distance between them.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Mycroft cursed violently inside his head as his phone started buzzing furiously at the most inappropriate moment possible. He withdrew from Greg, who looked a bit dizzy, gave him an apologetic look and grabbed his phone off the table to see who dared to disturb him when he had so much more important matters to attend. It was the foreign minister. Right, the potential nuclear threat in China... Mycroft had completely forgot about it as soon as Greg had called him. He sighed.

"I'm really sorry Greg, I have to take this." he brushed his lips slightly against Greg's forehead before clearing his throat and answered his phone, his tone changed into a much more professional one. He walked into his library and closed the door behind him.

Twenty-three minutes, and a very heated discussion, later he headed back into his living room, not sure if Greg would still be there. He let out a sigh of relief at the sight of him, still in the sofa, sipping another cup of coffe and fibbling with his phone. "I am so sorry about that. I had completely forgot about that call and it was really important, I had to take it." He sat down in the sofa again, further from Greg this time. He felt a sudden nervousness. What if the kiss had been in the heat of the moment? What if Greg only had stayed to tell him it had been a mistake?

"No worries, Mycroft. I don't really know what it is that you do, but it seems important as hell, so I guess interrupting phone-calls is part of dating you." He stiffened as soon as he'd said it. "I don't mean that we are… I just, uhm…" Greg stuttered out, his face red, and Mycroft felt he had to help him out.

"We could. Be dating, I mean. I'd really like that." It felt weird saying it out loud, but he felt very bold as he did so. "If you want to, of course?" He added as Greg didn't respond. He was rewarded with a smile, so genuine and beautiful that Mycroft almost had to look away. How could anyone in their right mind look so happy of the thought of dating him?

"Of course I do. Hell, I've wanted to kiss you since you kidnapped me that first time."

"I did not kidnap you Greg!" Mycroft said, a bit heated.

"Yeah, you kind of did actully. But I'm glad you did. I could use a bit of drama in my life." Greg winked and linked his fingers with Mycroft's.

"It was a neccessary precaution" Mycroft responded, and Greg chuckled. A comfortable silence fell, a kind that Mycroft hadn't felt in years together with another person. He watched their linked hands and he decided that if ther were about to do this, they would do it properly.

"I want to take you out" He said, breaking the silence so abrubtly that it made Greg jump next to him.

"I want to take you out on a real date, with dinner and proper conversations and nice clothes."

"You always have nice clothes" Greg said, but he smiled and continued with "I'd love to."

Mycroft smiled back. "Okay then. Tomorrow?"

"That would be great."

Mycroft really wanted him to stay longer, but he had an international crisis to deal with and it started to make his attention drift away. He searched in his mind for the right words to say to send Greg home, without him feeling like he'd been sent home. He didn't have to worry. Greg sensed that his presence was although very much welcome, no longer convenient. They rose from the sofa and Mycroft followed him to the door. An awkward pause appeared as neither of them really knew how to say good-bye. Eventuelly they settled for a hug and a quick peck on the lips. "Tomorrow them?" Greg said as he stepped out the door.

Mycroft smiled. "Tomorrow"

* * *

Greg stood in front of the mirror in their bedroom, fidgeting with his tie when Elaine came in. Her lips were a deep burgundy color, instead of the usual rose-color. She'd ditched the gym teacher then. "You're going out?" she asked him, surprised.

"Mhm" he answered, still trying to tie his tie.

"Come here, I'll do it" Elaine said, and Greg handed over the messy knot his tie had become. She undid it and started over, her hands effortlessly turning the piece of cloth to a perfect knot.

"New lipstick?" Greg asked.

"Yes. I got tired of the old one, I needed a change. New tie?" She said, as she straightened it.

"Yes, I needed a new one, too." Greg said and she nodded. And at that moment he felt that they fully understood each other, that they shared something, for the first time in years. They both knew, and neither cared.

"Well…have a good time tonight then." Elaine said.

"You too. I'll see you tomorrow." Greg replied.

"It suits you" she said as he was heading out the door, nodding towards the tie.

Greg hesitated, then walked back and placed a quick peck on her cheek. She smiled, and it was genuine. Their good bye was a closure, for both of them. He smiled back and headed out the door, feeling lighter than he'd done in years.

He'd barely made it out the door until the black car slowed to a halt in front of his house. He shook his head sligthly, but got in the car without questions, greeting the driver. He were a bit surpised to find the backseat empty, as he'd expected Mycroft to pick him up. Well, he at least expected Mycroft to be in the car when his driver picked him up. Greg doubted Mycroft had ever driven a car himself.

It felt weird. Here he was, in his forties, going on a date, after being married for the major part of his life. He'd forgotten the nervous feeling and the buzz of anticipation, and it was a nice change becuase he usually buzzed with nothing but boredom. Parts of him was wondering if he was really ready to do this, to start over. Okay, it was one date, it didn't have to lead to a life-time committment, but Greg already knew that Mycroft Holmes was not the kind of man you met for a one night stand or a booty call. If you'd gotten as far as to being asked out by Mycroft, you'd already gotten further than many others. Greg was already deeper down in this than he'd realized, and it scared him. But it wasn't a coincidence that he'd chosen the job he had, fear and danger excited him so it was a good typ of scary he felt as the car stopped and he got out. The restaurant looked nice, but not too nice. Greg had feared that he would be taken to the kind of restaurant where they didn't even put the prices on the menu, so he felt a bit more comfortable as he stepped inside the warm and surprisingly cosy restaurant, which also, he noted, had reasonable prices. He was shown inside and pointed to a table in the corner ,where Mycroft was waiting for him. The furnishing secluded them a bit from the rest of the room, and Greg strongly suspected that it was Mycroft's own doing. Mycroft got up, hugged him and said "Welcome" with a bright smile. Greg couldn't help but smile back, and felt some of his tension loosen up as he sat down.

Mycroft cleared his throat. "I did took the liberty to order, I hope you don't mind. I have personal connections in the kitchen, so I've been promised a special composed menu."

Greg chuckled, not the least bit suprised. "Sure, it's fine" he said.

The evening proceeded and before Greg knew it, the candles were almost burned down in their sockets, and as he looked around they were left alone apart from the staff. He threw a glance at his watch and recieved a slight chock. They'd been sitting there for nearly four hours, and the clock was approaching midnight. "When did thid happen?" he gestured towards the almost empty room.

Mycroft smiled. "Sometime during the first course and the third bottle of wine, I would imagine." Greg raised his eyebrows. Had they really been drinking three bottles of wine? Yeah, he could feel the warm buzz in his body and the slightly slower train of thoughts. He was amazed. Never in his life had he met someone that so completely absorbed him, to the point of him forgetting time and space, not even in his first months with Elaine. He was falling hard for Mycroft, and the realization that it was out of his control made him feel relaxed. God, he could really love this man and somehow it didn't scare him at all. Why would it scare him?

They thanked the staff, and made their way out of the restaurant, and all the while Greg couldn't keep his eyes off the other man. He didn't know if it was the wine or a newfound boldness or maybe both, but as soon as they'd stepped out he took Mycroft's face in his hand hands and kissed him. He tried to say all the things he didn't know how to put in words, and he must have succeeded because as they parted Mycroft, dizzy eyed, asked "Would you like to come home with me?"

Greg smiled. "I'd love to."


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

"Are you in love with him?"

Greg jumped, startled. Not so much by the question itself, although he hadn't been expecting it at breakfast on a Sunday morning, but more because Elaine sounded actually curious. She had a small smile on her lips and she looked at him in a way he hadn't seen in years, a look of genuine interest.

"I...uhm, might be. I mean…. yes. Yes I am." His first instinct had been to deny it, but why would he? They'd been dating for a few months now, and Elaine had her own steady relationship since three months back. And yes, he was very much in love with Mycroft, so there was really no point in trying to pretend otherwise. She smiled. "I'm happy for you" she said, taking a sip of her coffee. During these past months something had changed in their relationship. They'd gone from barely speaking at all, to small-talk, to actual conversations and now they were even friendly and loving towards each other. It was like them finding happiness in other people, had brought them closer together. None of them would ever consider being with the other, but it had made their living together a nice and much more comfortable situation. It had been years since they'd shared a Sunday breakfast like this, and Greg felt happy for the change. But he knew Elaine well, and right now he could tell that she had something on her mind, that she wanted to tell him. He waited patiently for four minutes, while stirring an unnecessary amount of sugar into his coffee. He looked up as she cleared her throat.

"Uhm… I've been thinking Greg. Don't you think it's time we sell the house? I mean, neither of us are hardly ever home anymore. You spend most nights at Mycroft's and I'm mostly at Robert's. It's too big for just the two of us anyway. What do you say?" She exhaled loudly, as though she'd wanted to say this for a very long time.

Greg thought about it. She was right of course. When they'd first bought the house, it had been with the idea that it would soon be occupied by two or three children. But as the years went by, the house felt more and more empty. Neither of them were home much, that was true. And considering the current market, they would probably make a good profit selling it now. He could get a flat of his own, closer to work. Ask Mycroft over to him, for once. It was a bit melancholy considering they'd lived there for a major part of their lives, but he couldn't see why they would keep it. He nodded. "I think you're right, we should sell it. And the profit should be enough for both of us to get a flat, don't you think?"

"Actually… I'm going to move in with Robert. He's already asked me, but I wanted to discuss it with you first. I know it might be a bit soon, but it's not like we're getting any younger." She smiled crookedly. "Besides, I thought you might move in with Mycroft? He probably has enough room in that big-ass house of his." Greg had taken her to see Mycroft's house once, but she hadn't met the man in person.

The idea that he could move in with Mycroft hadn't even occurred to Greg, and he was as astonished by that as by the idea itself. Would they manage it? Living together was a completely different thing than dinner and staying the night a couple of days a week. He imagined himself in that house, having breakfast with Mycroft's assistants, doing the laundry and having his toothbrush next to Mycroft's. It felt weird, almost unnatural. They hadn't talked about it, but he doubted that Mycroft would want him there 24/7. He shook his head. "I'll probably look for my own place, closer to the city." She looked at him for a long time before nodding, not pushing the question. "I'll make an appointment with a broker then, if you're sure about it?" she asked, still a bit hesitantly.

"Yeah, I'm sure." he said, really meaning it. "I think it's time we move on."

* * *

Mycroft sat in his office at home, buried in stacks of files and reports. He had approximately three thousand pages to read by tomorrow, but sometime around ten o'clock he realized the impossibility, threw his jacket across an armchair and poured himself a whiskey instead. He'd only taken a sip of it, when the doorbell rang. He sighed. He didn't expect anyone, and company was the last thing he wanted at the moment. He dragged himself out if the chair and walked over to the door, and opened it. Standing outside leaned against the banister, smoking a cigarette and wearing his usual smirk was Sherlock.

"Hello brother". He said coolly. "May I come in?" he asked while passing Mycroft in the doorway. Mycroft closed his eyes, begged for strength, and then turned around to face his younger brother.

"Why are you here?" he asked.

"Don't be unspecific Mycroft, you know how much I hate that."

"Fine. Why are you here, at my house, right now? Why aren't you in Switzerland?" Mycroft asked, his eyes roaming over Sherlock, trying to find out every detail of his brothers current state.

"I'm clean." Sherlock said simply. "Call the doctors if you don't believe me."

He didn't find anything unusual in his trail of deduction, and he had in fact received an e-mail earlier today from his contact in Switzerland, telling him Sherlock was now clean and ready to come home. He just hadn't expected him to be home quite so soon.

"And to answer your question about why I'm here, I want my keys back. If I remember correctly you stole them from my pocket before you sent me off to the end of the world. And if I know you correctly, which I do, you've searched the entire flat in search for any substances which you wouldn't find because I'm not as stupid as to keep it in the flat. And you've probably messed up my sock index again." Sherlock squinted his eyes at Mycroft, as if trying to see if Mycroft really had messed up his sock index.

Mycroft went to his office to retrieve Sherlock's keys from his safe, and froze when he heard Sherlock ask "Have you talked to Lestrade anything?" Sherlock couldn't know, it was impossible. Or was it? Sherlock did have a tendency to find out Mycroft's secrets. If nothing else, he usually did it just because he knew Mycroft would get irritated, but he couldn't possibly know this. Mycroft had done everything in his power to keep his and Greg's relationship an absolute secret.

"No. Why?" he asked nervously as he dropped Sherlock's keys in his outstretched hand.

"Just wondering if he knew about the good news." Sherlock said smirking.

"What good news?" Mycroft swallowed.

"That I'm back. He probably hasn't solved a single case while I was away. Poor thing." he said the last words sarcastically.

"You know, he did manage to do his job remarkably well before you showed up." Mycroft said, a bit too heated, but Sherlock took no notice.

"Oh he'll be thrilled to see me back." Sherlock said as he walked out the door. "Don't call me" he shouted back to Mycroft as he walked out the gate.

"Nice to see you too brother" Mycroft said to the empty hall.

But he couldn't help but smile as he closed the door after Sherlock. The last time he'd seen him, he had been almost unrecognizable, and Mycroft could still see the image of him in the hospital every time he closed his eyes. He was very glad that he could exchange that image to the one he'd just seen. Sherlock, alive and well and very much back to his old self. He returned to his office to get his whiskey. Should he call Greg and tell him about Sherlock? He was halfway through dialing the number when he put his phone down again. He knew Sherlock would probably surprise Greg in one way or another, and Mycroft decided to give him the satisfaction. He was glad to have his brother back, and he hoped with all his heart that this was the last time he had to send him to rehab. A small voice in his head told him he was being naive, and deep down he knew it. But Mycroft tried very hard to ignore it, as he downed the rest of his whiskey, and went to bed.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

"We're selling the house" Greg declared, as they lay in Mycroft's bed. "Elaine is moving in with Robert and, well we didn't actually say it out loud, but I guess we're getting divorced as well." It was the first time he'd said the words out loud. And even though there was no place he'd rather be than right here in Mycroft's arms, it felt weird. He would be divorced. He would no longer be somebody's husband.

"Are you okay?" Mycroft asked him in a soft voice. Greg was silent for a while, then he turned to face Mycroft and broke into a big smile. "I really really am." he said, truly meaning it. "We should have done this years ago really, but better late than ever I guess. It will be nice having my own place too, closer to work."

"Your own place? You're getting a flat of your own?" Mycroft asked.

"Yeah, that was the plan." Greg answered.

"Oh Greg" Mycroft sighed, suddenly sitting up.

"What? What's up?" Greg asked, rising his head so it rested on his palm.

"Have I ever called you an idiot?" Mycroft asked, voice stone cold.

"Uhm, no." Greg answered, a bit surprised.

"Then it's about time. You're an idiot. You're a complete and utter idiot if you think for one second that I would let you buy a flat and not move in with me." he said this very slowly, as if speaking to a child. Greg just stared at him, unable to believe what he'd just heard.

"I…" he started, and swallowed. "I didn't think you wanted me here all the time. Wouldn't I just be in the way?"

Mycroft sighed again and this time he actually rolled his eyes. "Greg, how many times have I called you an idiot?"

"Well, one so far. But I have a feeling I'm about to hear it a second time." Greg said, and he couldn't help a small smile.

"You're damn right. You're an idiot. How can you possibly think that I wouldn't want you here? If it were up to me, you would never leave this house. I miss you every time you walk out the door, and it doesn't feel right until you're back again." he said this very casually, but Greg knew he meant it, and he was surprised.

"But… you always say how boring people are, and how you can't stand being around them for too long." he said, remembering how many times Mycroft had complained about how he was living in a world of goldfish.

"And you thought I meant you?" Mycroft asked.

"Well, yes."

"Then you're an even bigger idiot than I thought." Mycroft concluded.

"So I've heard." Greg said, not able to keep the grin of his face. "Okay then...roommates?" he asked, stretching his hand towards Mycroft to shake.

"Definitely" Mycroft answered, and were pulled back down into bed by Greg's hand.

* * *

Three weeks later Greg and Elaine stood outside the house, the "sold"-sign in front of them, swinging back and forth in the wind. They stood there for a long time, not speaking, each of them lost in their own thoughts. Greg looked at the big green lawn and remembered their plans to put up a swing set and a basketball-hoop, possibly an inflatable pool in the summers. He looked at the outdoor furniture and the grill, purchased with the idea of barbeques with the neighbors while their in-laws played with their grand-children. He looked at the small wood-storage he'd built their first summer in the house, with racks for outdoor toys and bicycles that had instead become a house for spiders and bugs after years of empiness.

Greg swallowed. It was safe to say that their life hadn't turned out the way they had hoped. All of their plans and dreams for the future had been put on hold while awaiting kids. And then the years had gone by, and suddenly it was too late for them. Too late to save what they once had. He turned his head to look at Elaine and saw that she was crying. Silent tears streamed down her face and at that moment Greg felt an immense warmth towards her. He took her hand and she smiled weakly. "What went wrong with us, Greg?" she said quietly. He was silent for a minute, then said simply "Everything." He pulled her to the door. "Come on. We should start packing".

They worked all day, packing up their life together in brown boxes. The cold feeling between them was long gone and now they were resembling the good friends they had once been, before they had started dating. They joked about their ugly curtains, and took turns throwing platters, that they'd received as a wedding gift and that they both hated, on the floor so that the shards flew. That was fun until Elaine got a shard stuck under her shoe.

They watched old photos and divided books and movies between them. At nine o'clock they ordered pizza and Elaine found an old bottle of wine, that they'd decided to save for their 30th anniversary, but seeing as that day now wouldn't come, they opened it. They sat on the kitchen-floor, wine-bottle almost empty and the pizza all gone. After a while Elaine said "I wish it were different. We could have been so great together, and instead we just let it slip. We ruined us."

"I know" Greg said, leaning his head against a counter. "I know".

"We did love each other though, didn't we?" she asked.

"Of course we did" Greg answered, looking at her.

"Then we were lucky. That's more than some people get in a lifetime"

He nodded. She was somehow much closer now. So very close, and she smelled vanilla and her eyes were gleaming and they were kissing. Desperately kissing and tearing at each other's clothes and it was so very familiar. It was twenty years ago and they kissed for the first time. It was their wedding and they sealed their vows with a kiss. It was their honeymoon and they kissed under the stars. It was their whole life together, the pain and the sorrow and all the good times they'd had. But she felt too short. And Greg's hand tangled in her hair and he suddenly missed Mycroft short soft hair and, shit shit shit. Greg withdrew from Elaine quickly. It had gone from familiar and nice to horribly wrong in a second. Greg shook his head "We can't" he said.

"I know. I know, it was stupid." she agreed and at that moment her phone rang and she walked out of the kitchen to answer it. Greg remained on the floor, his head in his hands, feeling terrible. He wasn't sure it was considered cheating if you kissed your own wife, but nevertheless, he'd kissed someone other than Mycroft.

Elaine came back in the kitchen. "Uhm, it was Robert. He's picking me up, and he's here in a few seconds. Is it okay? You look like you could use some sleep anyway."

"Yeah, it's fine. I'll just throw this out and head home."

She nodded. "Okay, I'll come back tomorrow to pick up my stuff. Let's just keep in touch, yeah?"

She left, but came back a second later. "Oh and Greg? Don't beat yourself up for this" she gestured between them both "it never happened, okay?"

She left Greg on the kitchen-floor. He felt weird. But he was sure of something now, he really loved Mycroft.

Some time later that night, Greg sat in Mycroft's kitchen, Mycroft standing in front of him. Greg had told him about the kiss, he had to. He didn't want to start this with lies. Besides, he was pretty sure Mycroft would find out one way or another, so he figured it was best if he heard it from him. Mycroft had been silent for a long time now, and Greg started to freak out, wondering if he'd messed it all up. Eventually Mycroft said:

"Was it only a kiss?"

"Yes."

"Will it happen again?"

"Of course not"

"Then I see no point in dwelling on it any further. You're mine now, and I'm going to spend every day trying to prove how much I love you." Neither of them had said it before.

"You… you love me?" Greg asked.

"Of course I do. Do I need to call you an idiot again?"

Greg shook his head and smiled, then pulled Mycroft to him. "I love you too, you silly silly man."


End file.
